


Plush

by TheVeryLastValkyrie



Series: And They Fell Like Dominoes [5]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drabble Collection, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 10:32:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4016407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVeryLastValkyrie/pseuds/TheVeryLastValkyrie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of a filthy rich boy and a clever dick girl at one of the world's most prestigious universities; of cheap wine and red plush; of betrayal, and bad blood, and her reading glasses. This time, she turns the shower on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plush

**Author's Note:**

> Migrated from my Tumblr. Here be the F word, the C word, and a lot of words besides.

There is a teeny-tiny man just behind his eyes, and that teeny-tiny man has a jackhammer. “What…” What if he cracks one – no, no, bad idea. Light is bad. Light is yellow and sharp and horrible, but he needs light, because this isn’t his bed, and if this isn’t his bed (bad)  – what the hell is Ninon going to say if she finds out _a)_ that he stood her up for her own poetry reading to attend Aramis’ Armagnac pong tournament, and _b)_ that not only did he stand her up for her own poetry reading to attend Aramis’ Armagnac pong tournament, but that he woke up the next morning in some other girl’s bed?

Except it’s not a bed, it’s a plush red settee with half the plush missing. It’s the kind of antique item a very particular girl would buy, a girl who – are those aspirin? They are, and there’s a glass of water beside them. They’re tiny white capsules of oblivion, and the water is like manna as it washes down his throat, and Ollie rubs his rough jaw and subsides back into the cushions. His mouth tastes like his breath could take out a small island nation. His head rests on the arm of the sofa, still pounding, but the pills will kick in soon. After that, all he needs is the scent of sizzling bacon, and he’ll be (oh no) – that scent isn’t bacon, it’s (oh no, no, no) –

Did he seriously decide to visit Porthos last night?

Did he seriously decide to visit Porthos last night and get the wrong room?

Did he seriously decide to visit Porthos last night and get the wrong room _again_?

“Annie?” He croaks, wriggling deeper into the settee like if he pushes hard enough, it might swallow him whole. She’s in the room with him, he can smell her perfume, he can hear the rasp of paper as she turns the page of her book – and if she’s reading a book, then she’s got her fucking glasses perched on the end of her nose, hasn't she (fuck, fuck, fuck). “Annie, what the _fuck_? Why did you let me in?”

“Because I got bored of you banging on the door,” she answers coolly. “Of course, I was more pissed off than bored when you chundered all over me, but your scream when I turned the shower setting down to arctic more than made up for it.” She’s delicately licking the tip of her finger when he opens one bleary eye again, wary of both yellow, sharp, horrible light, and of her. She (why is she already wearing lipstick at stupid o’clock in the morning?) then uses the fingertip to turn the page. “Look, you got rat-assed when we were together, you get rat-assed now we’re not. I’m not bothered.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Does your sainted girlfriend know where you were last night, Ollie, or shall I nip down and tell her?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

They had sex for the first time on this settee, right at the end of Michaelmas term. He remembers. She remembers. He left with her knickers in the pocket of his blazer, and she slapped him hard across the face at dinner that night (twice). They both liked it (and he’s never given those knickers back, and he never will, because the smell of Annie is all he has sometimes, all he can stomach).

“ _You_ go fuck yourself, Olivier d’Athos.”


End file.
